


The Dread Secret of Castle Hollstein

by starkadder



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gothic Melodrama, Humor, Woefully Misinterpreted Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkadder/pseuds/starkadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victorian adventurer Baron Vordenberg narrates to his spellbound audience the terrifying mysteries he uncovered while staying at Castle Hollstein in darkest Styria. Who is the pale figure seen around the castle grounds? Why are LaFontaine and JP never in the same room at the same time? What is Laura doing in Carmilla's bedroom?</p><p>And has he maybe jumped to a few premature conclusions?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Incredible Discovery of Baron Vordenberg

_“So... since you ask me for a tale of my adventures in Styria, I suppose there are a few that come to mind. How I hunted the Snark in the forests of Lake Volchick; the revolution amongst the deermen of the great forest; my torrid affair with – ah, but no. Tonight, I shall tell you the story of a wild and snowy evening - a evening not unlike this one - when weary and travel-stained I trudged through the dark woods of the Lustig valley, utterly lost...”_

Oh, it was a wild night! The blizzard howled around me, the snowdrifts piled higher and I began to despair. Yes, even I: Cornelius Hans Albrecht, Lugenbaron von Vordenberg, was at my wits' end. I had no shelter. My boots were soaked through. Even my trusty greatcoat, still with the remains of the piping I wore in my officer days, could not keep out the cold. Vainly I strained my vision as far as I could into the haze of snow searching for a light or perchance the silhouette of a dwelling. No such luck.

I had been in such high spirits that morning as I set out from Karnstad for the journey down to Kotex. A winter march through the Alps is never the easiest, true, but in those happy days I was young, strong and full of vim and vigour. So I had planned to spend the day descending the long valley, following the River Lustig as it flattened out from its headwaters and began to meander slightly. It was a sharp incised channel by Karnstad when I left at first light, and I had hoped that by early afternoon I would catch a glimpse of my destination as the river curled a wide U by Kotex. Such hopes had not lasted. The blizzard came in before midday and now – the light beginning to dim – I was unable to drive away the realisation that I had taken a wrong turn in the confusion of snowflakes.

But see! There between the trees – a shape! A dark, low, slinking shape. I could not see well, but for one wild moment it reminded me of the great jaguars that guarded the palace in the deep jungles of Queen Atlcoatl, most beguiling of... where was I? Yes, a black, powerful feline creature stalking between the trees. Or did the snow deceive me? For surely it was no panther, but a human figure that I saw, a young woman. I sprang forward, crying out to her. But she was gone. Nevertheless, where there is a fellow human creature, there will be aid.

I am no slouch at tracking, but the snow and the wind and the falling dusk got the better of me. Not a track did I find of woman or feline. And my dash from the path had not been the wisest of my moves in this great game of life, dear listener. With the diving through thickets and the jumping of hollows, and the slipping and tumbling in the snow, I could not say with any certainty which way was north and which south. But then again, between the trees, there was a hint of a woman-shape, a hint of a cat-shape. Well, I was not dreaming – but what manner of thing was I following that shifted shape between the curtains of snow?

But the woman, if woman she was, would be my only chance of survival. I summoned my energies, girded my loins (do not ask how) and strode forward, “Fraulein!” I cried out “fraulein!”. But not response. Still I staggered on. It may have been a mile, it may have been three. But then before me was a light. And then two, and then more. As I strove towards them they separated and became windows, windows set into a wall, the walls of a great castle.

What a place it was! Huddled against the walls of the mountain slopes with towers climbing until they disappeared into the night. A great stone bridge flew over invisible torrents below, and all was of dark rough stone. With both relief and trepidation I passed over the bridge – nobody leading my way – and hammered at a great wooden door whose iron knockers bore the forms of snarling leopards' heads. After a silence that seemed deafening, I heard iron bolts being drawn back and the portal creaked open. 

“Dude!” cried the man revealed in the brightly lit hall. I was somewhat taken aback at this idiosyncratic form of greeting, and most rudely failed to reply.

“Bro, you look way too chilled - um, I mean – hey, strange traveller man! Are you lost?” 

I recovered my wits and managed a none-too-fluid bow.

Good evening indeed, good sir. Yes, I am quite lost. I throw myself on your mercy”

“Oh, hey, cool, come in! Don't worry dude, we'll get you a place to stay - there's loads of space here. I'm Kirsch, and this -” he said, ushering me in and gesturing to the vast space behing the doorway, “- is Castle Hollstein”

I bowed again. “Cornelius Hans Albrecht, Lugenbaron von Vordenberg at your service.”

“No man, at your service”, he said. “I mean, I'm the servant here. This is Carm- I mean the Countess Karnstein's place. Can I take your bag?”

“Thank you – and please convey my regards to your good mistress,” I said, slipping off my pack and handing it to him. 

“Will do. She's not the cheeriest lady but if I go ask her about you staying while Laura's in the room it'll be fine.” He slung my bag up onto his back and waved to a low couch on one side of the hall. “Have a sit down, I'll be back soon”.

But when he had gone I stood up at once, eager to inspect my unexpected good fortune. I stood in a large stone-flagged hall with dark wooden doors leading off left and right, and a vast stone staircase leading up to a balcony level occupied the centre of the room. The balcony too was lined with doors, and in the far corners I caught a glimpse of further, smaller staircases leading up to more floors. Between the many doors, the panelled walls were hung with heavy-framed portraits.

It was in all a good solid place, and not unlike my own family pile only a few valleys east. But as I waited for Kirsch to return, small oddities began to emerge. The carving of the bannisters and finials were strangely threatening. The theme of leopards and panthers that began with the outside doorknockers was repeated here too, and once I had started noticing them they snarled at me from every angle. So too were some of the borders and beams carved in ways that resembled bat wings more than I quite liked. And the portraits...

It is always charming to observe rows of family portraits and see the resemblances between the distant ancestors and their present descendants. But when I started on a circuit of the hall's paintings, the female figures – and they were all female figures – had a certain sameness to them. Long black hair and sharp eyebrows over piercing eyes and a disdainful mouth. I did not feel quite easy about seeing that same face in the living form of Countess Karnstein.

“Hey, Baron Vordenbro!” Kirsch had returned. “Countess said you could stay as long as you like – or at least she did after Laura made puppy eyes at her. Perry says the Shadow Room's the most recently dusted, and you don't question her on the dusting schedule. Come on!” He led me up the great staircase, then along the balcony and up a side staircase. As we emerged onto the next floor, I noted an alcove with a table upon which stood an empty mirror frame – another peculiarity to chalk up.

“Right, so this is your room,” Kirsch said, opening the door to a chamber hung with large, mostly grey tapestries, “there's a bell and everything for if you need anything. Dinner's in a couple of hours, but when I told Perry that you'd come in out of the blizzard she said she bring you up something to keep you going. Brownies if you're lucky.” And the curious-spoken manservant left.

The room was comfortable enough, but there were some curious aspects the more I came to look at it. The tapestries and hangings around the bed had seemed at first to be abstract, but as I looked at the they seemed almost to resolve themselves into hints of bones peeking out from behind foliage. There were long strikes in the wooden windowsill, the kind cats make – only far too large. More pressingly, there was a washstand and next to it a well-fitted out dressing table, but its mirrors had been removed and the frames stood empty. This was troubling - I couldn't see myself staying in a house without mirrors.

As I sat contemplating this mystery, there was a quavering 'hello?' at the door. I opened it to behold a fountain of red-gold hair flowing in curls down to two oven-glove encased hands. In the hands was a tray of brownies and looking brightly at me from above them was a thin, anxious face.

“I'm Perry, the housekeeper”, she introduced herself, “Glad you managed to escape that storm, Herr Baron. I'll arrange another place for you at dinner with the Countess, but that's not until seven, so I've brought you something to keep you going till then.”

“My dear!” I started effusively, “your hospitality is most generous. And you can call me Vordie.” She looked flustered.

“Do you have anything you need to dry out? I can take it down to the laundry room and have it pressed and ready for tomorrow?” I thanked her and handed over my greatcoat and spats.  
“Tell me, Perry,” I asked as she bundled them up, “and I hope you don't think I'm being ungrateful, but why are there no mirrors in this room?” But Perry made the sign of the cross and said nothing.

“And on the stairs on the way up”, I continued, “I'm sure I saw an empty mirror frame in an alcove. Are there no mirrors in the castle at all?” But she made the sign of the very cross indeed and covered her discomfort by pushing the plate of brownies.

I was famished and bit into one eagerly. Even as an old man telling you this story, the memory brings tears to my eyes. Oh, the rapture. Not the finest concoctions of French chefs, not the rare delicacies of the Indies, not the enchanted banquets of the King of the Golden Wood could compare. 

***

Dinner was already laid out as I entered the dining room. The table was large, but only three places were laid in front of a steaming tureen of stew surrounded by plates of bread, cheese, cold cuts. Two of the places were next to each other, facing across to the lonely third. One of the pair was already occupied by a young woman with brown hair casually pulling grapes from a bunch in front of her. She looked up as I came in.

“Hello!” she said, “you must be... Vordenberg. Right? Perry said you came in from the storm?”

“Indeed, your housekeeper found me at my wits end. I did not hope to be rescued into such a fine dinner with a tres charmant young lady, Countess.”

“Oh, I'm not the Countess. I'm Laura. Laura Hollis. That's you”, she added pointing at the unaccompanied place at table. “And that's the countess”, pointing at the empty seat next to her.

I sat at the place she indicated, facing her. Kirsch appeared from behind me and placed a bottle of wine beside me. I offered the bottle to Laura, but she waved me away.

“But I'll take some,” drawled a low woman's voice from behind me. Immediately Laura stood up and beamed. I arose also and turning, saw a slight woman with long dark hair and sharp eyes move languidly toward us. 

“Hey!” Laura greeted her with enthusiasm, and received the same response in Carmilla's own register.

“Countess, good evening,” I bowed. She managed an offhand salute in my direction.

“So you're the latest of the lost creatures Laura's brought in?” she said with a raise of the eyebrow. Laura frowned at her.

“Be nice, Carm,” she chided. Carmilla sulked a little, but nonetheless came forward to shake my hand before sitting next to Laura. She scooted her own chair a little closer to Carmilla's – I thought I divined one of those close friendships the English call being 'gal pals' – such a charming custom.

“It is most kind of you to shelter me, Countess,” I said as we began eating. She shrugged but said nothing. I wondered whether she was entirely healthy. He skin was pale, her manner loose, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Nonetheless, she was very beautiful, and I saw the strong family resemblance to the many other women in the portraits of the hall.

“And what a beautiful castle!”, I exclaimed in an effort to keep the conversation going. “and yet so remote for a pair of young ladies. Do you not find yourself deprived of company?”

“Oh we find all sorts of things to do up here”, said Carmilla with a sidelong glance at Laura, who blushed. Carmilla yawned widely. Definitely fatigued, I thought. Perhaps a remote castle is a blessing in such a condition – a perfect rest cure.

“And are you a visitor here too, Fraulein Hollis?” I asked.

“Oh no, I live here”, she said. 

“You're of the Karnstein family?” I asked, then realised I had made a mistake when I saw a flicker on her face. “Your pardon, I did not mean to intrude.” Carmilla raised an eyebrow,

“No, it's alright. My mother died when I was young. My father's health is poor, so he went to Italy for the climate... Carmilla offered me a place here”

“A most generous offer, Countess. But I would expect nothing less, given your kindness to me”

“Could hardly chuck you out in the blizzard, _Vordie_ ,” said Carmilla with an eye roll. Laura giggled, then to cover the lull asked me about my travels. I launched into an explanation of my nomadic existence, wandering from place to place in search of adventure. She was a bright, energetic girl: just the thing to lift the spirits of her ailing companion. 

“... and then when I was sixteen, my father took me to London and there was a great glass palace that they built in one of the parks, and...” I allowed her to talk on, but my mind was beginning to slow down from the tiredness and the food and the wine. When I inadvertent yawned, Carmilla finally spoke up:

“I think the Baron might need to be let alone, cupcake. He marched through a blizzard today.”

“Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!” burst out Laura. “I'm all talking on, and you're tired and-”

“And if the weather doesn't improve, he will stay with us for a few more days, so don't tell him your whole life now. Leave some for tomorrow, cutie.” She yawned again.

I rose, bowed to them both, and took my leave. It seemed the Countess wished to go to bed also, to judge from her slumping.

***

I awoke with a start from a fitful dream in which I, as an old man, hobbled into a large house helped by the young lady Laura. She sat me down in a chair and began to question me about... a newspaper? A university? A board... but the dream faded as dreams do.

I could hear something outside. Not the blowing of wind that lulled me into my dreams, nor the distant cried of owls and night birds that were the ordinary accompaniment of nights in Styria, but something like footsteps. I rose slowly, carefully. How did I know not to make noise, I wonder? Perhaps the fabled Sixth Sense of the Van Tassels – my mother's family, you know. I used to hear the most fabulous stories about Aunt Gretchin, how she... but I am getting distracted. I arose silently as I said, and padded to the window. With a slow but very slow movement I pushed open the shutter just a little and looked out into the courtyard.

The night, it seemed, was almost over. No sunrise yet, but the faint green-blue glow that precedes the true dawn. The battlements of Castle Hollstein were taking on shape and form around me, and I could see from the gentle direction of the light that my window faced east. And with shutter open, I could hear the source of the footsteps.

There was someone down there, standing on the flags. She – I though it was a she – was tall, and pale with long slender limbs. There she stood, silent and almost white in the deepest of blues that surrounded her. For a while everything was still. And then she began to sway. She bent forward, and reached out to her front. Her arms withdrew, then reached up. And then again: forward, backward, upwards. And again.

Her movements grew more complex. She strode forward, turned, stepped, spun. And then this pale figure seemed to leap around the courtyard, twirling and flowing, her limbs outthrown. As she turned away from me, I could see her hair was long but tied back – there was maybe the faintest hint of red. 

Those long white limbs dancing unseen with no partner; those quiet feet; the icy temperature that seemed hardly to affect her. That unearthly grace. It could mean but one thing: this was no living woman, but a spectre. A ghostly remnant of some lost lady, dancing still long years after her partner had ceased to take her in his arms. No doubt the courtyard had once been the scene of balls in the fine summer months. What had happened to her, and how long ago? Was this a happy memory to which she returned, or the scene of her unhappy end? I steeled myself: there was only one way to find out. If I were quick I could reach the courtyard before the light grew much stronger. Somehow I felt sure (the Sixth Sense of Aunt Gretchin again, who knows?) she would not linger as the light grew. Quickly but as quietly as I could I left the room.

Down the stairs to the main landing, my bare feet light on the carpet. I was about to step down the first stair to the ground floor when a cry met my ears. I froze. After a second of stillness, I cast my eyes around. Nobody presented themselves to my gaze. Then a murmur – no, two murmurs in two different voices. All thought of the pale woman suddenly out of my mind, I moved towards the source of the sound. Just of the left of the main staircase was a pair of great wooden doors. As I crept closer I could hear the whispering resolve itself into quiet voices: the voices, I began to realise, of the Countess Karnstein and Fraulein Hollis.

Was I right to listen closer? We Vordenbergs are no sneaks, we have our pride. And yet how glad I am that I did so. 

“... it's alright, Carm. It was just a bad dream. I'm here, see?”

“I know, it's... she was there, standing right over me, closing the lid-” Carmilla seemed shaken, afraid. “And then I woke up, and you were right over me”

“It's fine, I understand.” Laura's voice was sad, full of concern. “But I'm real. And she's faded away”

“You're pretty unreal yourself, cupcake. Sometimes I think I just dreamt you.” There was a giggle.

“Then you dreamt up a very b-, ah b-” Suddenly Laura sneezed, “-ful lady, didn't you?” She managed to finish. They both laughed, Laura's high-pitched giggle mixing with Carmilla's lower and softer tone.

“There's a adjective I haven't heard before,” said Carmilla. “So what does one do, I wonder, when a 'bloofer' lady appears in one's room at night?” There was a rustling as of shifting bedcovers. “Oh, I see. She appears to be quite predatory...”

“She might,” whispered Laura, her voice more intense, less playful now, “eat you up!”

“Oh, you think you're the one with fangs and the whole creature-of-the-night thing, do you?”

“Like you don't have that spot on your neck where you like-” 

There was more whispering out of my hearing range. Part of me felt I was overhearing something private, some girlish joke with which Laura comforted her friend. And yet what had brought her into Carmilla's room in the first place? Carmilla's nightmare had not woken her loudly. But the conversation had lost coherence and I could only catch fragments.

“Laura, please don't s-”

“Come over to me-”

“No you don't, you useless le-”

One of the two gave a strangled cry. And then there was a confusion of incoherent sound, almost like fighting and Carmilla hissed:

“-king get on with it! Oh, you suck at being a vampire...”

The word resounded in the chamber of my soul. It could not be, it could not be-

“I want to hear you beg me to eat you, Carmilla”, said Laura with unmistakeable relish.

It was.

Vampyren! The little grey cells were working at last. The Countess so weary and pale at dinner: the very symptoms of blood loss. Laura Hollis, apparently a young unmarried woman – but no family or governess to be seen. The strange position of equality she seemed to take with the Countess – oh, she had some hold over the poor woman, I should have seen! 

But why did not Carmilla try an escape? Surely, during the daylight hours when vampires are less effective, she could make it to Karnstad. One of the servants – at least one would believe her tale.

Or perhaps when Carmilla awoke again, the dreamed horrors and the real would fade into each other, and she would not believe that any of it happened. And I had no doubt at all that the horrid dreams that plagued Carmilla at night were but another part of Laura's trickery – how convenient that the persecuting figure of the nightmare faded into the seemingly helpful little Laura, a turn of the screw that trapped her all the more closely. 

Though it broke my heart to leave dear Carmilla to the mercy of Laura's vicious hungers, I would need a plan if I were not to become vampire food myself. Despite the horrors that would no doubt lie ahead, I knew I must keep myself calm. Fraulein Hollis was an undead fiend who entrapped innocent ladies for her nefarious ends, the castle was haunted by the ghosts of dancing past and I, Cornelius Hans Albrecht, Lugenbaron von Vordenberg was the only hope...

_“A brandy, you say? I shall hardly refuse! And then when we have been fortified, I shall tell you how I set about hatching my plans for the rescue of Carmilla Karnstein, what I found in the highest tower, and how the mystery deepened yet further.”_


	2. The Diabolical Experiments of Doctor S. LaFontaine

_“Now, where was I? Ah yes, I had recounted my harrowing discovery of the true nature of Laura Hollis and the deadly peril that trapped poor Countess Karnstein. But in spite of the horror that now surrounded me, I had one great advantage: nobody knew that I knew. I could afford to bide my time, so long as I remained circumspect...”_

The morning, which had at first promised an improvement of the weather, lapsed into heavy rain a little before nine o'clock, and dark clouds were gathering under the eaves of the mountains by the time I came down to breakfast. This was a great relief, for it gave me a perfect excuse to remain in the castle for today at least. Carmilla was nowhere to be seen in the dining hall. No doubt she lay pale and drained in her bed with pinprick marks on her neck. Laura, however, was already making headway into a great stack of pancakes with all the gusto of a hungry hunter. She beamed and waved when I entered the room.

“Hey!” she said, her mouth full. 

“Good morning, Fraulein Hollis! Did you sleep well?” Despite the trembling in my soul I kept my voice light – those months treading the boards of the West End paying off once more.

I was impressed by her performance in turn, I give her that. Not a fraction out of place, she beamed back a “wonderful, thanks!” and sighed with every appearance of wholesome satisfaction.

“No Carmilla this morning?” I asked as I sat down and began buttering toast. I will not deceive you, my heart was beating so hard I feared she might hear it. Carefully I placed my knife on my napkin so as not to betray the tremble in my hand. Owing to last night's dinner this was not truly the first time I had been four feet from a vampire, but nonetheless first time I was aware of doing so.

“Oh, she never gets up this early. Not sure she even knows what breakfast is,” she smiled. The callous creature, I nearly struck her! Instead I managed a thin smile.

“You didn't get as far last night as telling me about how you and Carmilla met.” I said, hoping that this would be taken as the normal conversational nothings of the breakfast table.

“Oh yes! I got bogged down trying to tell you all the places I used to go when my father was in the Diplomatic Service. Well, a couple of years ago – but I've only lived here the last year. Carmilla and I met at the Silas Finishing School in Innsbruck-”

“- you seem a little old for finishing school, if you'll pardon my saying so?”

“Oh, I know! I'd already been to one in Paris when I was seventeen. It didn't really stick and I was so bored but Father just didn't know what to do with me in Innsbruck so he packed me off again. Anyway, Carmilla's Mother ran Silas, and we became roommates.”

“Carmilla's mother - the former Countess?” I asked, noting how quickly she had recovered from my finding of the loose ends in her tale.

Laura paused and said slowly, “The Countess before Carmilla was her mother, yes. And her Mother ran Silas. Everyone called her the Dean, even Carm did sometimes.”

“My deepest apologies, Fraulein Hollis,” I said, “I did not realise Carmilla was so recently orphaned. And there I was chattering away to you last night, so full of talk of your father Mr Hollis and my Aunt Gretchin and the strange things my late father the old baron used to do in Grozny. She must have thought me very callous.”

“If Carm was upset she'd have said something. Believe me. It's fine. Anyway, they weren't very close.”

“If it is not impertinent for me to ask,” I began carefully, “how did she die?” A suspicion was forming in my mind. I could tell 'by the pricking of my thumbs' as the English say, yes?

Laura was silent for a while and bit her lip. “She had a fall” was her eventual, quiet answer. I pressed no further, and in truth I did not need to. At first I had thought the tale of attending school together a convenient lie, but on further consideration it had a ring of truth. Where better for a youthful-looking creature of the night to find new victims?

I could see the whole story now, unfolding as if from a magic lantern. Carmilla, the daughter of 'the Dean' was given a new roommate. At first she was puzzled by Laura's strange manners, perhaps a little off-put. The girl's unwomanly appetite for mountains of cakes and baked food, her extreme cheerfulness, her manner so open and ingratiating, her bright and garish clothes: these eccentricities would have irritated Carmilla at first. After all, Carmilla had no doubt been raised to be a normal young lady – quiet and reserved, cautious in her conversation, fond of respectable dark clothes and so forth.

But in time their friendship grew. Sharing the favoured pursuits of all young ladies – visiting the library, enjoying puppet shows, a little light waltzing – Carmilla would have been won over. Soon they were inseparable. And then the Dean was dispatched and Carmilla was alone in the world. She fled home, bringing her only friend along for company – Laura's 'father' having conveniently gone to Italy. And so the trap was set. Laura could not have taken hold of Carmilla more securely if she had married her.

To change the subject, I complimented her on the silk scarf she wore wrapped tightly around her neck. From her blush at my mentioning it, I surmised that it was a favoured affectation of hers to wear such things. And come to think of it, she had worn a different one the previous night. The fashions of women shall always baffle me. You know, once I knew a lady called Salome in Jerusalem who insisted on wearing seven different veils, and- but that is not a story for tonight! You will perhaps forgive my male incomprehension of the fairer sex's proclivities?

Laura finished her plate and rose, informing me that she wished to go and look after Carmilla, who was often fatigued in the morning. 'Look after Carmilla'! Pah! But I could do nothing except rise, and bow, and let Laura return to whatever wicked tasks awaited her.

***

I found Perry the housekeeper in her kitchen, rearranging the jars and bottles on the shelves that covered the walls. She refused to allow me to help, pleading that there was a specific and highly important order. I could quite not see it, but I allowed her to seat me with tea and a plate of flapjacks as she nattered on about castle life. 

“...and there are all sorts of interesting mushrooms in the woods that Danny picks when she's out on her morning run, so I do these wild mushroom ketchups and – wait, I'm sure I put the garlic here, where's it gone? Fiddlesticks!”

“Kirsch, don't traipse mud all over the kitchen, scrape your boots outside!” she added as the door to the garden swung open and the lumbering manservant came in with a basketful of wood. “Do it now! You're not stocking up the fires with filthy boots.” And she stepped neatly over the trail of mud he had left into the pantry in search of the missing garlic.

“Oh, sorry Perry. Morning, Vordie man,” said Kirsch as he plunked the basket of wood onto the table next to me and then retreated out to the step to scrape off his boots. I quietly took a couple of the smaller, pointier pieces and concealed them in my jacket.

Kirsch came in again, leaving only slightly less mud on the floor than the first time, hefted the basket and went off whistling to the bedrooms a fraction before Perry came out of the pantry saying, “Oh and Kirsch, could you take LaFontaine's lunch up – oh, you've gone. That's helpful.” She sighed.

“A little early for lunch, isn't it?” I enquired.

“Oh, LaFontaine eats between experiments. So I do them a packed lunch when I can't drag them down into civilisation. But you haven't met LaF yet, have you? Doctor LaFontaine, if we're being formal. They do God-knows-what science in that tall tower. Which is very inconvenient right now, I need to be here to watch the cooking.” She looked dreadfully put out.

“If I might be of assistance, Fraulein,” I offered, “I could take it. I have no doubt trespassed on your important work for too long, and it would interest me to meet another resident of the castle” To this she readily assented, directing me to the high tower room where this experimental hermit could be found.

“Oh, and tell them – LaFontaine – that it's high time they returned all the mirrors they took out of the east wing. I don't know _what_ they're doing with them but it's very untidy to have all the empty frames.” She bustled over to the stove, where the strange mushroomy mess was developing a very odd steam.

I took my leave of her, with the stakes in my jacket pockets and two purloined bulbs of garlic in the breast.

***

Of all the hideous spectacles that I have ever beheld, those perched on the end of this creature’s nose remain forever pasted into the album of my memory. For a brief, wild moment I entertained the horrible idea that this was some insectoid creature, the tormented result of a forbidden experiment in matter translation. Then the creature removed the complexly-cantilevered arrangement of lenses and levers and I saw that it was apparently human, certainly red-haired, and dressed in a lab coat one or two sizes too large for it.

“Doctor LaFontaine, I presume?” I said, presuming nothing of the sort.

“Yes. So you’re the Baron, huh?”

“Indeed. Fraulein Perry sent me up with your lunch,” I proffered the paper bag, “and to ask whether you had finished with the mirrors from the east wing.”

“Hey, chutney!” they exclaimed in pleasure, looking in the bag. They thought for a moment. “Mirrors. Um… no. Need them a bit longer. We’re almost managing to focus the starlight into the hologram substrate, so we can’t stop now. Would you like a cup of tea?” they asked, “Perr’s packed some snickerdoodles as well.”

“That would be most welcome, my good,” I paused, realizing that Perry had not referred to the doctor as anything other than ‘them’. ”...woman?” I finished.

“No problem – and not man or woman, Baron, just LaFontaine.” Ah, the rigorous egalitarianism of the forward-thinking scion of science, I nodded to myself. Leave personal details at the door, very roll up your sleeves and get the results. Most refreshing!

LaFontaine brought me my tea (in a mug with the words ‘Alive! He’s Alive!’ written on the side which I found rather odd) and we set to the snickerdoodles. There was a silence in the laboratory, and I believe in our very souls too, as Fraulein Perry’s baking performed its magic. 

When the rapture had faded and our hearts had returned to earth, I questioned the Doctor on their research. It seemed wide-ranging, complex and multi-disciplinary although most commonly centred on the biology in which they had performed their early studies. I gathered that LaFontaine had been in Innsbruck at the same time as the Countess and was an old friend of the housekeeper.

Soon we were conversing of the advances that were being made in science across the continent. I am not a scientist myself, but of course I dabble here and there, and have had the privilege of assisting some truly great minds in their work. And, you know, now and then I have been thanked for those little contributions that make all the difference. Such a satisfying endeavour. We talked of the theories of animal magnetism of Franz Mesmer, and the doctor had a particular fascination for the experimental integration of galvanic forces with living tissue.

But a particular departure occupying them presently was the trapping of starlight through a complex system of mirrors. For this, they had arranged on the roof of the laboratory tower a great scaffold of struts, holding lenses and mirrors. All at the moment was covered over by an oilskin wrap against the foul weather, but more fascinating to me than the frontiers of physics was the view that this tower roof offered over the whole of Castle Hollstein and its grounds. It was breathtaking.

I could see the rough square of the castle arranged around the central courtyard at my feet. Off to my right the east wing gave way to an extended gable along the edges of a formal garden. And round the front and two adjacent sides of the castle was the deep torrent over which I had crossed on the previous night. In the light of afternoon, even such a dim and damp one as today, the deep ravine was terrifying. I beheld for the first time how light and vulnerable the bridge to the gatehouse was, and how the castle seemed almost to cling to the rugged landscape. Even the grandest works of man were small in this landscape.

Behind the formal gardens the land sloped up into the shoulders of the overshadowing mountains. Still their peaks were shrouded in clouds and yet conditions had improved from yesterday. I scanned the grounds, looking for I knew not what.

And then I saw it. Moving through the shadowed path that marked the edge of the garden and the beginning of the forest, there was a pale figure. It was so far off that I could see hardly more than a smudge, but it was tall, and slim and I thought – oh, to have those youthful eyes again! – that there was a glint of red hair on her head.

Now am sure you will agree that to see a ghost once may be the sign of a madman – but to see a ghost twice is proof positive. I kept silent and did not draw LaFontaine’s attention, but instead followed the figure as it passed in and out of the trees, all the while heading towards an overgrown square huddled at one extreme of the grounds. “What is that?” I asked LaFontaine, pointing to the small fenced-in patch almost swallowed by the encircling trees of the forest.

“Graveyard,” they shrugged. “Old Karnstein vaults.”

“Ah, the home of the ancestors. Very proper to keep them at home. Yes. And now, doctor, I fear I have trespassed on your time too long. I shall entertain myself and allow you to return to your experiments.”

***

The graveyard was quiet and still as I creaked open the gate. In the middle stood a large mausoleum – overlying the Karnstein family crypt, I surmised – and around it were various humps and knolls with tumbled stone monuments. Everything was very old, and it seemed that no new plots had been dug for a very long time. But perhaps this was not too surprising, for the family mausoleum was a grand, imposing location and no doubt family members were all interred therein.  
The structure was a late Gothic, something I would have placed in the dying days of the Middle Ages had it been found in a city, but which here in the remote back-country might have dated to the sixteenth century where fashions lag behind the metropolis. A snarling leopard’s head leered at me from over the archway, and weathered skeletons displayed themselves in the finials of fluted columns. The door, heavy and with rusted hinges, was not locked and I heaved it open inch by inch until I could fit myself inside.

The space was smaller inside – thick walls bulged inwards somewhat. On the left and the right were raised stone sarcophagi, four on each side between me and the far wall. But in the middle was only one, the same height as the others but with a fine, granite lid. 

I walked around the sepulchre clockwise, noting the names along the left-hand file. _Heinrich Karnstein, 1550-1620. Elizabeta Karnstein, 1550-1571. Hans Karnstein, 1595-1655. Marguerite Karnstein, 1600-1675._

Then around the back wall, where a pile of broken nails and iron fittings suggested that s box – or coffin – had been left there to decay. The opposite file’s first two tombs read: _Albrecht Karnstein 1620-1670. Angela Karnstein 1650-1675._ The next two gave me pause: _Matthias Karnstein, 1648-1698. Father._ And next to it _Marie Karnstein. 1660-1698. Mother._ Dead in the same year, I thought, and shivered. I turned to the great central slab and bent over it with an inexplicable sense of foreboding. The lid was cracked right across the middle, but on the upper half I read:

_Mircalla Karnstein, 1680-1698._

So young! And in the same year as her parents. I wondered what misfortune had befallen the family. Maybe one of these women – perhaps even the young girl whose memorial was the centrepiece of the whole edifice – was the pale, tall ghost I had now seen twice haunting the lonely grounds. Well, there was no proof here one way or another, but I had at least a store of names lest I encounter her face to face.

How odd that this was the youngest grave, though. Where had the family been buried since? All those sulking dark-haired figures in the paintings of the entrance hall, with their startling resemblance to the living Carmilla? But more to the point, there was no coffin of unhallowed earth for Laura. Of course, I had hardly expected her to have arranged herself a stone tomb with a precisely named lid in the family vault! It would have been a strange coincidence indeed to break into the Karnstein family tomb and find there the name of the vampire engraved on her unquiet slab, but I had hoped that maybe stacked in a corner the undead devil would have found a place to repose her six feet (well, nearer five feet) of cursed earth. Perhaps it was wherever the more recent Karnsteins were buried – a crypt under the chapel, in catacombs beneath the castle, something like that.

***

“Doctor?” I called as I entered the laboratory once more. But the good doctor was nowhere to be seen. And the laboratory, which had been tidy and clean only an hour before was now strewn with broken glass and fragments of equipment. Things crunched under my shoes as I trod gingerly in.

“Hello?” I ventured, with less boldness.

“Oh – hello?” replied a hesitant voice – an English accent, I thought. From round the corner of the other room poked a head, but not that of LaFontaine. This was a tall, thinly-beared man with unruly dark hair, dressed in a white coat that was a size or two too small for him.

“But where is Dr. LaFontaine?” I enquired of him.

“Had to go out. Suddenly. Perry… wanted something, it seems.” His voice seemed unsure. “I apologise if I seem distracted, I arrived to find a bit of a mess. The cage must not have been locked properly, and it got out.” His hands rubbed themselves together compulsively.

“What has got out?” I asked in alarm, turning round in case whatever it was should be behind me.

“The carrier harpy.” He must have seen my disbelieving expression, for he continued, “A project of ours. It has replaced the carrier pigeon! Well… eaten. It has eaten the carrier pigeon. You needn’t fidget like that. The window is open and there are loose feather sticking to the sill.” 

I forbore to question him further on this, instead seeking after his name. He introduced himself as J.P. Armitage, assistant to Dr. LaFontaine. I asked if he wanted help clearing up, but he shook his head, mentioning the dangerous substances that could be mixed in and what they might do to an unwary body – ‘an unpleasant prospect, let me assure you’. Given the strange dark red liquid I could see leaking out of the wreck of a mug in the corner, I believed him, and bad farewell.

Halfway down the stairs again, I stopped dead in my tracks as the facts of the strange case of Dr. LaFontaine and Mr. Armitage filtered into my brain. It sounded somehow familiar – indeed, it reminded me of a tale I had been told by a Scottish author friend of mine.

The unexplained ‘they’ pronouns used by Fraulein Perry to refer to LaFontaine. The sudden disappearance of the doctor and simultaneous appearance of J.P. The laboratory in ruins. The evasive answers (‘carrier harpy’! What a gullible fool I was!). The odd liquid – elixir, I might even say – spilled from a mug.

“Oh, LaFontaine,” I muttered, “what have you been meddling in, you fool? There are limits – to science, and to people’s bodies. And yet at least you had the wit to test it on yourself without dragging in some poor innocent. I pray you find a cure before that alter-ego of yours turns upon you and everyone you love. Perhaps if I prevail against the undead fiend, I may aid in your recovery – but I shall be no use to you until Castle Hollstein is safe.”

But it was not safe, and my hopes for discovering the resting place of Fraulein Hollis had been thwarted. Had I only had more time, or a stout posse of villagers armed with torches and pitchforks I could have combed the tunnels and catacombs in search of her unholy refuge. But the weather was clearing and if I did not leave tomorrow morning she would begin to suspect me. That left the short remainder of the afternoon or the long night. The time drew close and as the light began to dim I, Cornelius Hans Albrecht, Lugenbaron von Vordenberg, prepared to face my foe...

_“Oh, I do beg your forgiveness, the bottle has indeed been empty a little too long. Allow me to fetch another, and then I shall proceed to the climax of my story: how I confronted the beast in her very lair, what became of the Countess, and how I lived to tell the tale.”_


	3. The Hideous Transformation of Carmilla Karnstein

_“Where had I got to? Ah yes, I had just understood the nature of Doctor LaFontaine's experiments and how they had created the monstrous, though very polite, alter-ego known as J.P. Armitage. But now I had to find the undead villainess Laura Hollis and put an end to her depredations before she utterly consumed the Countess Carmilla Karnstein...”_

It was not an easy task to find such a small vampire in such a large castle, especially one I did not know. I tried the rooms I had seen already, and even burst dramatically in to Carmilla's bedroom only to leave less dramatically when it turned out to be empty. It was only when I began to despair of finding anything that I heard a muffled sound of voices coming through a wall, no through the floor. I was on the floor above two women having a conversation.

I followed the hint of voices to a corner of the corridor where behind an old cabinet was a grate in the floor. Below me I could see a lushly embroidered carpet and the top of a dark wood table. Two glasses stood upon the table next to a book, and though I could see no hint of either Carmilla or Laura, I could now hear clearly that the voices were theirs.

“Hey Carm, I need a fair share of the blanket,” Carmilla made a whining noise. “Oh listen to the child of the night! What beautiful music she makes.”

“Don't see why you need so much blanket,” the Countess sulked. “You're always warm.”

“Hmm, yes.. but still, don't see why you need so much blanket when you have such a warm companion to snuggle up with.”

“Oh, but Laura.” Carmilla wheedled. “I'm so cold. Hardly any circulation at all... I doubt if you could even hear a heartbeat if you put your ear to my chest.”

Laura sighed – a little over-dramatically, I thought. “Well I suppose I'd best check, hadn't I?” There was a rustling and shifting. “Nope, barely there at all. You're nearly done for.” There was a chuckle – I thought in Carmilla's deeper voice, but it seemed such an odd thing to laugh at that I wasn't sure.

“Then I think I'm entitled to lie around a while and have my wide-eyed maiden fair attend to me, don't you think?” This was certainly Carmilla.

“You are unbelievable,” giggled Laura.

I had arrived not a moment too soon. The Countess Karnstein was close to death and Fraulein Hollis was grown so confident in her power over the poor invalid that she felt able to joke about it. For shame! I rose from my knees and strode back to the stairs. Somewhere on the ground floor I would find my quarry.

But as I emerged out into the courtyard trying to get my bearings, I ran straight into the first mystery to have caught my eyes in Castle Hollstein. There in front of my eyes by the still-clear light of day, was the ghostly figure I had twice observed. She was certainly a woman, but of such unnatural height as to seem quite unearthly. Her red hair hung loose around her shoulder and despite the chill of the day, she wore only a sleeveless top and trousers to the middle of her calves. 

She was facing away from me, and I shrank back against the wall in shock. And then she turned, and walked right past me under the archway to the garden. Her grey eyes met mine.

“Hey Baron,” she said and walked on, out into the garden.

***

“Baron?” Perry leapt to her feet as soon as I entered the kitchen. “You look like you've seen a ghost!” I muttered something incoherent and she ushered me into a chair and began to bustle around.

“I was – hoping to find the Countess,” I managed to splutter out. “But I had a bit of a funny turn.”

“Well, you wouldn't be the first. This castle... you know, I try to keep out the anti-space and the remains of old dracopyromaniacs and I don't know what else, but it keeps getting in again. Here,” and she handed me a plate of gingerbread men. “Very rich, full of good things to put you on your feet again.” She beamed as I bit into it, and indeed I began to feel much better.

I asked where I might be able to find Carmilla at this time in the afternoon.

“She'll be in the library,” the housekeeper told me. “She likes to read for a couple of hours before dinner. It's at the back of the castle, on the left side when you come in.” I smiled. That was indeed the quarter of the castle I had been in when I overheard Laura and Carmilla's conversation.

“I must say, Fraulein Perry,” I said as warmth began to seep back into my heart again. “your baking is absolutely first-rate. Never before have I been so succoured and aided by a biscuit.”

“Oh, food can be such a comfort,” she beamed. “You just let the sugar and the butter and the spice fill you up to the brim. It's the stuff of life.”

The gingerbread was indeed very good, but also very filling. I said as much to Perry, who giggled.

“Yes, eat a bit too much and you'll start to feel you're made of gingerbread!”

I began to feel sick.

A little aside: you, dear listener, may be wondering whether I was perhaps being a little slow on the uptake during my stay at Castle Hollstein. I admit that, in retrospect, my mind does not appear to have been moving with its normal rapidity. You might attribute this to my exhaustion from my great journey through the snow only the day before. You might sympathetically note, too, that events were moving at a prodigious pace and that I had brought no trusty assistant with me to aid in seeking out information. You might also guess that I had not been the first wanderer to find myself in the castle and that the inhabitants must surely have grown adept at hiding their true natures by now. All this would be true.

But what if something else had happening all along? Something that started on the previous night when I came in, ragged and cold, to find a helpful housekeeper with a plate of brownies. After all, who would suspect dear, darling little Perry?

Perry with her supernaturally good baking that calmed the mind and drove away all the anxious questions. Who knew enough about LaFontaine's diabolical experiments to refer to the doctor as 'them'. Who made 'experimental mushroom ketchups'. 

“Just so we're clear here, you turn people into gingerbread and eat them, don't you?” The words were out of my mouth almost as soon as I had thought them. The housekeeper looked stunned.

“What? No. Nononono. That's just stupid,”

“Oh is it, Fraulein Perry?” I exclaimed jumping to my feet. “Is it? Do you deny that you have been feeding me all these baked goods to keep me docile and slow and prevent me from combating your dark mistress? And now this gingerbread with its insidious slow metamorphosis - I suppose I was getting too close, wasn't I – seeing a ghost?”

“What? No! What... why would you say that?”

“Oh come now. You've been playing me like a balalaika since I arrived. And I should have know from your name. So arrogant to think I wouldn't spot it. Do you deny that _Fraulein Perry_ is a notorious anagram of _Funerary Peril_? Yes, I know an anagram of a name when I see it.” 

I threw back my head and stood proud at my condemnation of her.

“Well, I have no time to bring justice to you now. When I have dispatched the vampiric fiend that you serve, then I shall return and find a fitting punishment for you.” With my greatcoat billowing out behind me I swept from the room, leaving the witch behind me.

***

I found the library as Perry had let slip I would and paused outside to catch my breath. I could hear no voices inside. Was I too late? But there was only one way to find out: I braced myself, checked the stakes and garlic were where I had left them and threw open the door with the old Vordenberg battle cry:

“ _Parus major!_ ”

My luck held! There was Carmilla slouching on a couch - if not definitely alive, then at least not obviously dead. Fraulein Hollis was nowhere to be seen. Evidently my delay at the confrontation with Fraulein Perry had been of some providential use.

“What is this?” demanded Carmilla as she jumped to her feet. Her eyes fell on the stake clasped in my left hand. “Oh, this ought to be good.”

“You must come with me, Countess!” I cried. “There is not a moment to waste! Any minute now, Fraulein Hollis might reappear.” I beckoned her to come quickly.

“Yeah, not falling for that. I can see the stake, Baron. Not getting anywhere near it until the moment I come and pull your head off. Wait, what's this about Laura?”

“Madam, perhaps you do not understand the urgency of the situation. You must know by now, surely, the true nature of your companion Laura! That she is false! That she preys upon you day and night. That while she lives you are never safe from the prick of wicked fangs upon your neck!”

A variety of expressions passed over Carmilla's face, finally culminating in something I took to be slow realisation.

“You understand, Countess? Laura Hollis is a vampire! Those terrible dreams you have been suffering are not dreams. The tiredness and weakness that you feel are not natural at all. Come with me,” I urged. But as Carmilla stepped towards me her manner changed. No longer baffled, she moved confidently in powerfully flowing motions.

“Oh, _Vordie_. You came to rescue me? So kind, so noble... But perhaps – could you be a lamb? - point out to me where Laura has been draining my blood this past year?”

“Countess, I have no doubt that you will find two puncture wounds at the base of your neck-” she swept her hair out of the way, “- or perhaps on the other side.” I paused. “Or maybe on your wrist? Other wrist? Or-”

“Can save you the trouble of going through this twisted marionette game, Vordenberg” she purred. “haven't been any marks on me that stay longer than an hour for a while. Even the scratches Laura makes on my back don't last...”

I stood dumbstruck, trying to understand what she meant.

“Oh can't you guess?” she pouted. “Tell you what, I'll give you a clue. I stopped showing wounds a little while back, when a certain someone stopped my heart and yet left me walking.”

I was too late. Perhaps only a few minutes ago, the fiendish Fraulein Hollis had finally drained the Countess Karnstein of the last of her life and ushered her into the same cursed undeath. And said Countess Karnstein was now standing before me looking – now that I noticed it – exceptionally predatory.

Oh, schnick-snack.

“Hey Carm, I found the-” said the voice of Laura from behind me before she took in our little stand-off.

“Careful, cupcake,” said Carmilla. “Seems the Baron is on a vampire-hunting mission and you're his target”

“Oh. Well, with that in mind... would it do any good telling him that I'm not a vampire, maybe?” Laura quavered.

“As if I would believe that, Fraulein Hollis!” I exclaimed. “As if I have not seen and heard enough – and as if what you have done to poor Carmilla is not obvious.” In truth, I could well see how her chosen persona of a charming young girl was effective. At her pleading expression a moment of doubt flickered at the edge of my mind, but I was too careful to let it conquer me. Instead, I lowered slowly the stake in my left hand. Laura nodded, and made calming motions with her own hands-

-and then I surged forward, pushing the garlic I had hidden in my other fist into her mouth. She shrieked in shock, but just as suddenly I was thrown back to the floor by a flurry of blows that seemed to come from everywhere. I managed to spring up again, but Laura had taken a fighting pose and Carmilla was at her side.

“No pretence any more, Fraulein Hollis!” I snarled. “That's vampire strength and speed you have.”

“Uh, my father is a raging paranoid who left me in a castle without relatives or a governess – you really think he didn't sign me up for Krav Maga as a condition of being here?” she retorted, but any doubts I might have had were spent and gone.

Carmilla advanced on me slowly. “Get out. Before I feed you your own spleen.” I backed away, trying to glance over my shoulder to look for an exit. None met my eyes, only walls of books. Quickly I found my second stake, and with one in each hand sprung at Carmilla. Laura screamed.

Now, in order to properly appreciate what followed, I should tell you that in my youth (and I was not long past my youth in this time) I was a great fencer. So too had I experience in boxing, in unarmed wrestling, in the ancient art of deja fu as taught to me on my journey to the east many years before. So when I tell you that Carmilla pulled the stakes from my hands and put me in a chokehold within half a second, I must emphasise that this was in no way due to my complete lack of fighting skills. I really cannot stress that enough, right?

I found myself on my knees before the Countess, her hand around my throat and the world beginning to turn black. Slowly her hand tightened but-

“No! Carm, no! Let him go,” shouted Laura.

“Look, creampuff,” said Carmilla. “This lackwit is trying to stake us both. I'm pretty sure that would kill me, and I'm definitely sure that would kill you. So why don't you turn around and hide your eyes while I pull him apart?”

“Carm..”

Carmilla sighed. “All right. Letting the Baron go. For some reason I don't understand. Pick up his stakes first.” Her grip on my throat loosened and I gasped for air, my mind churning. For what worse fate had Laura saved me?

“-is everybody all right, I heard screaming, the possibly being murdered kind, not the fun kind-” came the voice of LaFontaine from behind me. I turned, and they were half-emerged from a moveable panel in the bookshelves. I did not wait for a moment longer. I sprung up, pushed past their still-baffled expression and threw myself into the passage that lay behind it.

Down the dark passageway I ran, dust and cobwebs covering me. Again and again I stumbled on loose bits of wood and debris, but it was only a short way until I saw the door by which LaFontaine had entered, and I leapt out of it to find myself in the entrance hall. Escape was now the only thing on my mind. Escape to Karnstad, maybe raise a posse of villagers with torches and pitchforks.

“Baron!” At the top of the stairs stood J.P. How had LaFontaine transformed to quickly, and how had they made it here at the same time I did? What enhanced speed or strength did this creature have? I backed away, trying to put myself between him and the front door.

“Stay away,” I warned. “Keep your cursed flesh away, LaFontaine”

“Are you all right, Baron?” he asked. “You seem in some distress, and I fear you are not thinking clearly. If there is anything I could do-” But I did not wait to listen to his trickery. With all the courage I could muster, I turned and ran for the front door.

***

I do not remember clearly the first few days back in Karnstad. I understand from the innkeeper that I was found raving and shaking in the street by his son one evening. He was a charitable enough fellow and took me in under the impression that I was a madman of some sort (needless to say he revised this opinion once I recovered myself!). But despite his kindness to me over the following weeks as I convalesced in one of his rooms, he persisted in attributing my story to a sort of brain-fever brought on by excessive physical exertion. 

Nor could I rouse any of the company to come with me to purge Castle Hollstein of its horrors. After three successive evenings in which I stood up and attempted to persuade the inn's guests of the great adventure that would await those who came with me, I received no volunteers, and the innkeeper told me in severe terms that anything else I did to disturb the company would force him to rescind his hospitality. I lapsed into a useless lethargy.

My only comfort in these weeks was the one fellow traveller, an Irish writer, who listened to my account without complaint or judgement, and who even took notes. But when I asked if he would be willing to take the fight to the vampires at my side, he refused. There was work for him to do elsewhere, he said. Sure enough, one morning I found he had departed on the next leg of his tour. Sitting that evening in the bar room brooding on my failure, the landlord wordlessly handed me a letter in what I recognised as his elegant, flowing script.

_My dear Baron Vordenberg,_

_I must thank you for your fine company this last fortnight and apologise for my rapid departure. In truth, I lingered here longer than planned and learned only this evening that I would have to hurry to make the pass before the truly deep winter snows set in. I hope you will forgive my rudeness._

_In the matter of Castle Hollstein, allow me to give you some advice: do not go back. This is not the first tale of the vampyren that I has reached my ears in these parts, and from comparing accounts I have reached a conclusion. Vampires are not creatures we can hope to understand. There are so many complexities, so many variations. Do you know that there are bands of roving travellers who say they can be distracted by spilling poppy seeds which they will feel compelled to count and others who consider them mindless beasts? There are those who have killed them by exposing them to the light, and those who have seen them walking under the noonday sun. Some will swear that a vampire can make more vampires by biting a human; others are equally adamant that only a strange and complex ritual can achieve this effect. Your own experiences convince me that an assault on an enemy we do not even begin to understand is useless. The most we can do is make widely known what information we have so that those unfortunate travellers who fijnd themselves in such predicaments as yours are well-armed._

_So for you, Baron, I shall ensure that your own experience is not entirely without use. I shall write it down, and it shall be added to the accumulated stores of vampire lore. Who knows who it may help in the future? (I may tweak the details a little, of course. Just to put it in a form that readers will appreciate. I do hope you understand.)_

_Your friend,  
Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu_

I put down the letter with a curious sense of relief. Perhaps my friend was right. I had been subject to a nagging feeling since my rescue that there was some aspect of my experiences that didn't make sense, some detail I had missed, something I had not understood. No doubt he was correct – the best that could come of this sorry tale would be its telling for the edification of others. I could do nothing else now – certainly not for the poor Carmilla. Time to move on, to go where I could be of some real help?

I made my decision. Around me, the bar room was filled with guests: locals, travelling merchants, wanderers from far off lands. I closed my eyes and listened to the murmur of their conversation as they swapped news and gossip. Pale shapes had been seen moving in the cemetery at night, a washerwoman from the fort told the tale of a man in an iron mask, rumours flew of a unknown artefact falling from the sky-

-and I, Cornelius Hans Albrecht, Lugenbaron von Vordenberg was ready for them, far away from the dread secret of Castle Hollstein.

***

_“Well, there is an end to my story. Perhaps I do not come out of it too well, having failed to save that poor young lady. But no matter, I do not tell the tales of my life to boast or to aggrandise myself – it is purely for the advancement of knowledge that I do so._

_Oh, I am glad you found it so interesting. Your own tales have been quite fascinating too, I must say. It is so rarely I have the opportunity to converse with a fellow adventurer, you know? Especially one who is also a charming and gracious lady as yourself – if I may say so._

_Well, good night. And I hope we shall meet again soon, Ms. Belmonde.”_


End file.
